Zero Day by Ezekiel Boone

Author:Ezekiel Boone [Boone, Ezekiel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, horror, science fiction, Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic, Thrillers, Suspense
ISBN: 9781501125133
Google: AN0vDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B074MDW8GG
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2018-02-27T06:00:00+00:00

Soot Lake, Minnesota

“You know what I really wish?” Mike popped the clip out of his pistol. He checked it for what had to have been the tenth time that morning. He’d already cleaned his Glock and reassembled it twice.

Leshaun, who was relaxing on the top bunk, grunted. “That spiders hadn’t come out to eat everybody?”

“Well, yeah, but what I really wish—”

“That the president didn’t decide to bomb the ever-loving heck out of our country?”

“Okay, sure—”

“Or, no, wait for it . . . You wish that the president didn’t decide to use nuclear weapons, so we could have stayed here in this lovely cottage on this picturesque lake and simply gone fishing and hung out while we waited for the whole spider thing to be sorted out, instead of being so worried about fallout that we’ve decided it’s actually safer to try to get your daughter and your ex-wife’s unborn child out of the radioactive Midwest and all the way to the East Coast with no real plan besides trying to sort of drive even though all the highways have been bombed into oblivion? Is that it? Is that what you really wish?”

Mike put the clip back into his pistol and secured it in his holster before turning to the dresser. The Mossberg 500 and his other pistol, a Glock 27, rested on a blanket that had been neatly folded to cover the top of the dresser. The Glock 27 was a subcompact. It fit well in Fanny’s hand, and she was a better-than-average shot with it. She was also, Mike thought, the kind of person who would pull the trigger if necessary. He was less sure what to do with the shotgun. Fanny’s husband, Rich Dawson, had already come close to accidentally shooting Mike once. On the bed, which he’d made out of habit, he also had four rifles. The Remington 700 was his. Neither he nor Leshaun was really a gun guy, but the Remington was a great rifle. It was what both of them had trained on when they’d done SWAT work and, with the scope, either one of them was comfortable to three or four hundred yards. The other three rifles they’d taken off the yahoos who had tried to do them dirty, sneaking through the night with plans to do God knew what to Mike and his family. Not for a second did he feel guilty about or second-guess the decision to take those men down. Their rifles, though, were the kinds of crappy bargain buys that felt flimsy in your hand. And when he and Leshaun had broken them down and cleaned them, it seemed clear that it was the first time anybody had done such a thing. They hadn’t fired them either, figuring that, with the limited ammunition for the rifles, they didn’t want to waste a shot. That made Mike nervous. Which was an answer in and of itself, he thought. He picked up the Remington and put it on the dresser with the shotgun and the spare Glock.

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